


The Traveler

by Tarlan



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-12
Updated: 2002-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A traveler comes across a dead man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Traveler

It was the circling buzzards that first drew his attention to the trail ahead. He spurred his horse onwards, pushing her to a slow canter to pick up the pace. Another ten minutes past before he reached the spot. Jumping down from his horse, he shooed away those buzzards that had become brave enough to approach the heap of dark clothing.

The traveler winced at the obvious signs of pecking, the torn clothing marred by sluggish blood. He pulled aside the man's duster, releasing a cloud of fine trail dust into the air. Below he could make out the features of what had been a handsome man. He flipped the body over with his foot, grunting from the strain of moving the dead weight. Dirty blond hair spilled from the black hat that had miraculously stayed on the dead man's head until now.

Staring hard at the face, the traveler could find no flicker of recognition. He had a good memory for faces, and it wasn't someone he had met before. The pale green eyes were wide open, staring up without seeing into a blue sky filled only with the buzzards that still circled overhead.

He wondered who this dark-clad man could be. Had he friends? Family? Or was he a drifter just like himself? Moving from town to town haphazardly, staying for only as long as he felt welcome. He pursed his lips as he took in the single gunshot wound through the chest. The man's horse was missing--probably the motive behind this seemingly senseless killing.

Something about the man made him feel uneasy. Perhaps it was the fact that this man had been travelling alone--just like him. Could he have had friends? Good friends who sat waiting in a saloon up ahead, wondering what had become of him? Could there be a woman somewhere up ahead waiting for him? A lover, a fiancee or a wife? Perhaps a child or two--or three--who would never see their Pa again?

The least he felt he could do was give the man a decent burial rather than leave him for the buzzards. He went back to his saddlebag and pulled out a small spade but hesitated. _If it were me then would I like to be buried out here in the middle of nowhere?_ He grimaced. There was no-one out here who'd give a damn about him so what would it matter.

_Could matter to this man._

The lonely traveler gave a sigh, feeling the weight of his own lonely existence, and the longing for something more than the path he had walked these past years. He sighed in dismay; decision made. It would be an uncomfortable ride but the next town was only a few hours ahead on the road. Maybe someone knew him there?

The man heaved the surprisingly lean figure up and shoved him belly down over his horse. He grunted hard with the exertion of moving the unresisting corpse but finally got the body secured. The horse skittered, shying sideways. She didn't like the idea much, could probably smell the blood--the cloying scent of death on her new load. He mounted the horse behind the corpse and kicked her onwards at a slow walk.

A few hours later and he could make out the town in the distance. He slowly rode in and halted outside the sheriff's office, but there was no-one there.

"Hey, you. Where's the sheriff?"

"Around here someplace... probably."

The traveler didn't bother to wait for the man to finish, looking around he had seen the undertaker's store. He urged the tired horse in that direction and allowed a sallow-faced man, thin with dark eyes, take the body. Threw the man a dollar and told him he'd be back later.

"Hey, mister. Who was he?"

"Was hoping you could tell me that. Found him back up the trail aways."

The traveler turned away from any remaining conversation and headed for the saloon. He was hot, tired and thirsty. He pushed aside the batwing doors and entered the cooler interior. Silence descended as he moved to bar, his eyes, surreptitiously, scanning the faces for any danger.

"Whiskey."

"New in town?"

"Yep."

"Got a name?"

The traveler eyed him warily then smiled grimly.

"Larabee. Chris Larabee."

THE END


End file.
